


Remains

by LelithSugar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Belts, Choking, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Master & Servant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ramsay is his own warning, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Roleplay, Spreader Bars, Vignette, blatant briar-patching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Vignettes, cut scenes, drabbles, and other bits and pieces from the Bloodied Up perverts-in-love Thramsayverse, in which the characters and plot are divergent enough from canon that it is clearly intended and depicted as a healthy, consensual BDSM relationship. Not Stockholm Syndrome, not brainwashing or coercion: an entirely different dynamic with a different background, which just happens to *look* like what we see around series three, to an outsider who doesn't know what's going on, because they're using it as a cover. I didn't say it was realistic, it deliberately isn't, but it's smutty, humour-tinged kinky fluff. If that's your bag dive on in.Summary and tags will be updated with each addition. Chapters will be unrelated other than being from the same AU and in no sort of discernible order: I will do my best to list them here.1.   Time to Waste   - total PWP, spreader bar related smut.2.   Enjoy Your Day - Also PWP. Face slapping, belt beating, choking, cheekiness, kink negotiation and a rough fuck.3.   Nose Over Tail - a little fetish-tinged vingette on a hunting trip.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Emphysematous, my good girl. 
> 
> So, this will be where I post things that never quite became a fic, or were cut from others for diverting them too much, taking too long about it, or pissing me off at the time in any number of other manners. This one's just straight up porn. Have fun!
> 
> Just a little louder for the people struggling at the back: this is *not* an AU in which all the things from the canon are happening but Theon enjoys them. It is a total AU in which characters, relationships and plot arcs develop very differently, and you will see some canonical plot points explained from different perspectives. It *is* very silly, in that I decided I wanted to see a version in which the characters met up and ran off into the metaphorical kinky sunset *instead of* what happens in the show/books, and didn't intend it to be any more believable as adivergence from Canon than if I'd written Theon as part kraken and growing his cock back later on, or trotting off and marrying HotPie in the social event of the century. . It is *not* a glorification of abuse, there is no PTSD or Stockholm syndrome or anything like that. None of post season two of the series happened (forget the book timeline for a bit, let's not get any more confused), just talking about two consenting adults in an explicitly safe, sane and consensual bdsm relationship who happen to have allowed some pretty gruesome rumours to circulate, and that's how it ties in with the series. If you've wrapped your head around that but have trouble with believing someone could enjoy the *fic*!degree (not the show version) of consented physical pain and humiliation play without trauma, I don't know what to say to you. It's a thing. Might not be your thing but I can confidently assure you it happens.

Time to Waste

Ramsay had spent a seemingly inordinate amount of time using fine rope to bind Theon's arms to each other in front of him,  from the fingers to the elbows in a complicated web of interlinking loops that Theon had grown bored of him tying, but just one knot, thick and sturdy, protruding from the minimal gap between his elbows. It would have been a fascinating craft to watch had Theon not quickly become more interested in the pull at his skin, the restriction on his movement, the shapes cutting into his forearms. Ramsay's weaving and fussing had become tedious, and the look of heated concentration only served further to rile Theon into wanting him to make something of it.

Sure enough once he was happy with the lattice of hemp and swellling flesh, Ramsay had left Theon perched on a hard chair and spent some time deliberately teasing before backing into an antechamber to retrieve something and returning, brandishing a three foot wooden post with iron cuffs screwed into the ends of it and grinning. It was crude but finished, so unlikely he'd made it himself - woodwork was less his strong point than more pliable materials - and the implications of it were enough for anticipation to turn itself into a quick and undeniable hardening of Theon's cock.

Ramsay had had him strip quickly and in no specific order other than that in which his layers untucked willingly, whilst he went about shaping the ankles... because that was so obviously what they were... of the device in his warm, strong hands. As soon as Theon's legs were free of his trousers, Ramsay swiped out and grabbed one slim ankle, yanking it towards himself and nearly pulling Theon off balance to close the iron clasps around his legs and put the bolst through them. The touch of the metal made a cold and significant point: from the closing of those bolts Theon knew he would be unable to put his legs together, or to cover himself at all, with his arms lashed so awkwardly together, bent up against his chest: that he'd be thoroughly at Ramsay's mercy, exposed and on show, totally unable to protect himself or resist. The thought had not been unappealing in the least.

And so Theon stood, legs spead and arms clasped, whilst Ramsay had taken his sweet time in pulling a chair over  - even stopping to re-read something on his desk on the way - before positioning himself behind Theon with a  jar of loose, scented grease and, in no more hurry,  working his sticky fingers up and down and into the crease of Theon's backside, parted as it was by his forced stance. Ramsay was humming to himself, deliberately oblivious to Theon's whimpering as he alternately pressed on and deliberately avoided the spots Theon wanted his fingers to touch as he worked them in and out of him, throwing in gratuitous pauses and strokes up his thighs in random measures between the slow and steady prying open with the grease on his fingers.

Theon wobbled as he panted with the effort of bearing the blend of pleasure, discomfort and anticipation, wishing he were at least against a wall so that he could put his forehead against something to hold him up. “Ramsay, please...”

“Yes?”

“Fuck me? Or, more fingers. _Something_ , fuck.”

A mocking huff. “Well, I suppose you'd have a hard time stopping me, in that position, from doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.” Ramsay's tone gained a distinct, familiar darkness to the timbre: one he used to great effect to sober Theon's mind to the reality of his various predicaments, usually with the converse and deliberate result of stoking his arousal into a blind and mindless desperation. “Or anyone else, for that matter. Not a lot you can do about it like this, is there?" Theon flinched, but Ramsay knew just when that was a good sign. "If I leave the door open? Anybody who happened to come up could have you. I mean... it's terribly selfish of me not to share you. You with the... appteties you do, just my cock can't possibly be enough, can it? I'm positively neglecting you. Better, surely, that I leave you with your arse prepared and presented so that any man stopping by would know that you are a slut, free for use, and give you what you need? Mount you, fuck you and leave you dripping for the next one?”

A shudder ending in a whimper was about all the response Theon could manage, so Ramsay knew he was dead centre of the right path.

“Perhaps I should just bring you down to the hall like this and let the entire fucking Dreadfort have a go on you. It's not as if you could do anything about it..."  Another shiver, but the noise accompanying it was a soft, quiet groan. "Can't even close your legs together or try to make it look like you don't want it. Helpless, for enoyone to do as they please with. But not just yet. I should allow you a day or two's practice to be worn in first."

The familiar fantasy had its usual effect, and the addition of the props only vouched some authenticity to the threat; made it seem so much more than the usual offhand musing and Theon, predictably, was weak as warm wax in ramsay's hands. It was an awkward wobble to the bed and Ramsay pushed him onto it face first, Theon's forearms folding up againt his chest and the knot at his inner elbows pressing bruisingly into the bottom of his breastbone.

Theon had heaved in a few deep breaths, wriggled his hips up to a better angle despite the immediate discomfort... and Ramsay had got up, walked out and left him.

And there Theon had laid, spread and aching, for the entire duration of whatever the hells it was that had taken Ramsay wherever the hells he had gone to, the relentless solidarity of his own erection not letting up for the space of even a breath. He couldn't be absolutely certain he'd heard Ramsay lock the door.

He daydreamed for some time... about the ever present and very real threat of someone finding him like this and using him as he was so looking forward to Ramsay doing. About how, despite taunting him with it, he had absolutely no doubt that Ramsay would kill anyone who tried: he was not one to share, and he'd had made it abundantly clear that any threat that could bear witness to the lack of real damage to Theon's body and might start to raise questions would be nullified immediately, with a crossbow bolt or a broken neck: whatever was quickest at the time. And there'd always been something in Ramsay's unselfconscious wildness that heated him.

He fell asleep for a while and, although he couldn't recall his dream on waking, it had certainly made him no less inclined to grind his hardness into the bed below him, but he resisted. It wouldnt't take much in that state and Ramsay would not be impressed if he came in to find Theon had indulged his own pleasures however clumsily. Although the prospect of punishment was not an entirely unappealing one, sometimes instead of goading him he liked to show his master how good and obedient he could be, even when it meant breaking a frustrated sweat with the effort of not rubbing himself gainst the bedspread.

Sure enough when Ramsay returned, his first action after shucking his boots off by the fireplace was to unceremoniously thrust a hand under Theon's prone form and check both the bedclothes and his cock: damp and tacky, certainly, but it was obvious he'd been behaving himself. Theon could hear Ramsay grinning.

“Mmm. Good boy.”

Without warning, he slid one finger down the crease of Theon's arse and just prodded softly at his entrance: tense, just the slightest sheen from the grease, exactly how he'd left it which was enough reassurance for him to tease in earnest.

“Oh, my poor little slut! Nobody's come up and made use of you? And after all my hard work...” His mock sigh was heavy as he re-oiled his fingers and quickly slid two into Theon's body.

Theon groaned and flexed his legs involuntarily at the suddenness of the intrustion, but the bar held them apart and Ramsay pushed them back down into the bed.

Quickly and deftly - possibly betraying an amount of excitment - Ramsay stripped himself out of tunic and trousers, one handed as the other was up to the knuckles in Theon's greased and spread backside, piling them up with the fur he'd moved from where Theon was laying and the satchel he'd been wearing when he came in behind him on the bed.

“Shhh, my pet. I know you're desperate. This isn't enough, is it?” He flexed his fingers deliberately  and Theon felt the answering shock make its way through his prick and up his spine.  He was already painfully aroused, sweat soaked and near delirious, and it was hardly a leap for Ramsay to gather he needed this, and not much else. “You've been wanting cock all day, but you're still empty."  If the syrupy soothing of Ramsay's voice hadn't been enough to send Theon's head spinning and have him unconsciously rutting his hips forwards, the way he spread and wriggled his fingers as he slipped them out of the grip of Theon's body would have been, and the fact not one of his words was a lie almost did for Theon there and then. "Shh. I'm here now. I'll fuck you.”

Theon heard a rhymic, wet slipping sound, and the realisation that it was Ramsay stroking his own cock with the oil, too many times simply to be preparing it to enter him, sent another wave of heat crashing through Theon's body that peaked in a moan he had no control over. He squirmed into the blankets gathered underneath him but Ramsay soon pushed a hand down on the small of his back to keep him still as he climbed to lay over him, finally making good on the promise the device had been making him all day: Ramsay's cock sank into Theon's body, slow and careful. Theon almost sobbed.

Ramsay adjusted himself for his own comfort at the total and obvious expense of Theon's, his left forearm braced casually on the back of Theon's head, pressing his face into the bed; Ramsay's knee resting on the inside of Theon's thigh hard enough to bruise and his deliberately careless mounting did nothing but send even more arousal singing through Theon's body. He was already incoherent with it, so he could only let out a series of urgent whining noises into the bedding as Ramsay - finally all the way inside -  planted his foot against the wooden bar between Theon's feet and firmly kicked it backwards, straightening Theon's legs where his knees had drawn up in tension and flattening his pelvis around Ramsay's cock.

“You know,” Ramsay began conversationally, walking his fingers deliberately up Theon's thigh to take up an uncomfortable hold at the top as he began to shift his hips, “when I had them make me this, I told them it was for you?”

Theon's orgasm was sudden and blinding: his entire body shuddered violently, prickling with ecstacy as his cock strained between the worn silk on the bed and the slick skin of his own stomach.

When reality reformed around him, Ramsay was chuckling, kind and open.

“Did you come? Already?” A hand found its way underneath Theon's molten body to fondle at his softening prick, and when that hand returned streaked with the still-cooling evidence of his climax, it was immediately held in front of Theon's face. He licked eagerly and without shame, allowing Ramsay to push his fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean, grateful for the distraction as Ramsay began fucking him in earnest, quick but steady. “Don't worry. I'm not going to stop until I know you've had enough. I know how badly you need it.”

Offhandedly, as if it was inconsequential, Ramsay reached back to pick up a detatched sword pommel from his satchel and dropped it to the bed by Theon's shoulder, just in his line of sight.

Theon was abruptly overwhelmed with the knowledge that 'enough' was going to involve tears. He pushed his face into the cushions and groaned.

 


	2. Enjoy Your Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Your Day - Pure PWP featuring belt beating, face slapping, cheekiness, kink negotiation and plenty of smut. Set in the consensual AU, please do read the notes on that if you're not 100% up to speed.

 

Enjoy Your Day

 

When Ramsay awoke, Theon was sound asleep, flat on his back with one hand curled so close to his face on the pillow that for a moment it had looked as though he was sucking his thumb, until the glistening of his open lips had conjured entirely different pictures. He’d been careful not to disturb him when he got up to fetch the water in from the antechamber, visit the privy, and spend a few minutes standing by the hearth trying to work out if it’s cold enough to bother lighting it, deciding against. When he returns he finds Theon propped up in the pillows with his legs spread, one hand gripped around the base of his prick, giving it the occasional lazy stroke, the other teasing at his hole with shiny fingers.

“Good morning to you, too!” Ramsay jibes softly in the dawn quiet. Theon opens his eyes and smirks at him. “Oh no, don't disturb yourself on my account, you look perfectly comfortable in my furs, pleasuring yourself…”

“I was rather hoping you'd join me.” Theon's voice is low, warm, chalky with sleep and arousal.

Ramsay kneels onto the bed next to him, and leans over. There's nothing so wont to diffuse his moods as Theon's easy sensuality; he finds him almost impossible to say no to. The boy decadently touching himself in Ramsay's bed is such a glaring contrast to the character he plays, and Ramsay would be lying if he said he didn't find the snivelling, cowed, desperate slave version of him appealing but there was a good reason he'd chosen to keep Theon greyjoy, of all people. He ducks to touch his lips against Theon's collarbone.

“You _know_ my father wants me to go tax hunting around The Hornwood with him today.”

“I do. And I was thinking about how cross you were going to be about it, and… here we are.” Theon shrugs as if his lewd predicament was an inevitable consequence that he was powerless to avoid.

Ramsay chuckles. “Thought a quick one might calm me down a bit?”

“... that's not the path I was thinking along at all. But if it does, then all the better. Here.” He elbows the flask of linseed oil, not wanting to disturb the work of his hands. "I'm almost ready.”

“Mmm.” Ramsay spills oil out into his hand and coats his cock in it, trailing his slick fingers down between Theon's legs to rub beside where his own breach his body, but not entering. “Were you really hoping I'd come back and give you a seeing to, or just fingering yourself?”

“Not really sure, to be honest. Both?” He gasps as he splits his fingers out and stretches himself, just enough, before pulling them out and wiping them against the blanket. “I had nice dreams, woke up hot. And then I remembered you had to go out with Roose and you'd be all… glare-y and frustrated and… mmhhh.” He cuts off his daydream when Ramsay bites him, just a graze of teeth in truth, just letting Theon know that he's going to get that urge fulfilled this morning. Theon shuffles himself down, struggling out from the pillows to lay flat, rolling his back to lift his hips and hold his legs up and spread, from the back of the knees.

Perhaps it's biting down  the insult about how whorish he looks that makes swallowing such a visible effort for Ramsay, suddenly.

Ramsay rubs the fleshy head of his cock a couple of times across the oiled pucker of Theon's hole, llines himself up And sinks in. Theon sighs as Ramsay draws back and pushes in, and then again, deeper, when he starts to find a pace. “ _Oh”._

“Yeah? That good?”

“Mm. Hit me?”

Ramsay smiles at him and fakes a huff, as though he's affronted that Theon might want anything other than exactly what he's giving him. He rolls his eyes and acquiesces. “Where?”

“Face.”

Ramsay slaps him, hard enough to pinken the skin and make his hand sting, and Theon lets his head turn with the blow; closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip.

“You want another one?”

Theon makes a happy noise but Ramsay can't tell if that's an affirmative or a response to Ramsay beginning to fuck him again after the slap, so he stills.

“Theon.” Pale green eyes blink up at him slowly. “Tell me, if you want it.”

Theon swallows and nods eagerly, and ordinarily Ramsay would force him to articulate what he's asking for but it's early and it's not like he doesn't know; if he didn't it's plain from the quick response that Theon will happily take whatever he feels like dishing out.

“Oh, you're in one of _those_ moods.”

Theon nods again, quick and almost pitiful. “Yes, master.”

Because when isn't he in _one of those moods_? His ability to spend such a great deal of his time as Reek depends upon the fact he is almost perpetually _in one of those moods_ , and the fact he skulks about the place being mocked and belittled and cuffed by serving staff like he's nothing and then comes to Ramsay's bed hard and wanting him to do worse never ceases to amaze him.

Ramsay pulls Theon's hair so he's facing him again, draws back and slaps him, hard, following the impact through and then swinging it back, smacking the other side of his face backhanded. That's heavier still and hard enough to bruise and Theon groans at it, cock twitching against his stomach, leaking a string of thick, clear liquid into the stripe of soft hair under his navel. Ramsay swipes his fingers in it, glances them over Theon’s slippery glans.

“You love it, don't you. Filthy whore.”

And with that Ramsay fists that hand in Theon's hair, pushes his head back down into the bed and rides his arse in earnest, and it gets him the reaction he's expecting: Theon flaps his hands as if he's struggling without making any attempt at all to make contact or resist. He tries to toss his head only to feel his hair pulled, so Ramsay grips him tighter, yanks it, spits on his chest.

“Can't just get your arse pounded. Have to make me work for it, is that it? Turn over.” He releases his hold,  pulls out and grapples to move Theon, when Theon’s already doing it for him. “Had so much cock it's all the same to you now?”  With Theon roughly balanced on all fours he lines up and pushes in, none too gently, and has to surpress a moan at the tight grip of Theon's body so that he doesn't make a mockery of his already teasing tone. “Dirty little slut. You want it rough?”

There's a warning in his voice that Theon doesn't have the sense or restraint to say no to, he just moans as Ramsay grabs a handful of his arse and digs his nails in, squeezing to spread Theon around his cock.

“You're going to wish you hadn't said that.”

He hadn't said anything, in fact, or nothing that made sense but Theon knows exactly what he needs to say if he wants to stop and he doesn't, he just balls his fists up in the pillows either side of his face and braces himself for whatever is coming next as Ramsay pulls out of him.

He flinches and tenses at the chink of metal, just in time before Ramsay brings the leather strap of Theon's own belt down across his arse.

“FUCKING hells,” he gasps out. “You could have warmed me up a bit. With… with your hand or something…”

Ramsay snorts. “Awh, does my little boy want a spanking? Have you been bad? Do you need daddy to put you over his knee?” He swipes the belt down again, not as hard but flatter, resulting in a resounding crack and a livid pink streak right across the white of Theon's buttocks. “You'll take what you're given, and be grateful for it.”

Theon flops forwards to lay flat on the bed, resigning to take his punishment without having to hold himself up. Ramsay rewards him with another blow with the belt, swung from so high that it whistles through the air on the way down.

And another, at the tops of the thighs. Theon's breath comes ragged and heavy, he squirms his hips for a more comfortable position or the friction against his cock, perhaps both, and Ramsay doesn't stop him.

One hard blow that makes Theon keen and whimper, followed by two softer flicks with the tip of the belt that make him writhe into the bedspread and screw his face up in frustration.

Ramsay stretches the belt between both hands, and pulls it out of his own grip so that the centre smacks solidly into the side of Theon's arsecheek, so hard it almost lifts him off the bed.

“Yesss…”

Ramsay drops his teasing down a notch or two, just to be sure. “You're really enjoying this today, aren't you. Isn't it a little early for your sort of depravity, Greyjoy?”

“Never,” laughs Theon, with a face full of pillow and a voice full of ragged lust. Ramsay swats at him with the belt. “Harder.” Another strike, more definite. “Really hit me, I want stripes. I want to ache all day. I don't want to be able to walk right.”

Ransay sighs dramatically. “If I knock you into next winter will you actually shut up and let me fuck you? “ 

Theon half laughs, half groans.

The next swing of the belt ends in a soft sinking sound rather than a thwack, then a cry that bubbles into laughter. The blood is already blooming under the skin on the side of his thigh where the buckle made contact.

“That hard enough for you?”

No answer, so he gets another one. Theon screams out through gritted teeth as the metal comes down hard on his backside where the leather has already almost broken the skin.

“More?”

“Please, no, it hurts, _please…”_

That only means he's sinking into it at last, feeling the plain right how he wants it, dropping into his favourite line of fantasy.

“Serves you right for being a greedy whore.”

“Ugh.”

Ramsay holds the belt at his own shoulder and brings it down hard at an angle, painting a solid red stripe in a diagonal right across Theon's arse. He strokes the end of it down over the rounded slope of his buttock, on to his rapidly bruising thigh, pulls it back and smacks it down again. The snap rings out off the stone walls.

“Aaahhhhhhh…”

“Had enough?”

“Yes my lord, I'm sorry, please, please no more…”

Despite his words, his tone is heated; he sounds remarkably close to peak. He's never spent purely from being hit but Ramsay has always wondered if he might, if he's patient enough to beat him exactly right, to wind him up and keep him on the edge for long enough that he spills when Ramsay strikes him, with a riding whip right across the back of his thighs…

“Tough. You should have thought of that before you told me my prick wasn't enough for you.”

“I didn't- I - … oh master _please…”_

 _Please one more_ is what that whine means, Ramsay knows that much. He makes sure it's the buckle he's wielding and swings it firmly, heavily down onto the very centre of the swell of Theon's arse cheek. Feels the metal sink into the meat of it, the leather splitting the skin just above. It takes Theon a fraction of a moment for the sensation to catch up with him before he wails in earnest, and Ramsays cock twitches.

“Mercy, I'll do anything…”

“Anything?”

“Yes my lord.”

Ramsay laughs, warm and honest. “Then pack in being so demanding and let me fuck you. You're black and blue, is that enough?”

“Ugh, yes, …”

“Get that arse up in the air. You won't be sitting on it for a while that’s for sure.”

Theon obliges, wriggling his knees up under himself but keeping them wider apart than his shoulders, making room for Ramsay to kneel between his legs and spreading himself open.There's something indescribably pleasing about the way the bruises skip over the pale valley of his arse crack to resume on the other side in what would otherwise be perfect, continuous lines.

Hiding his glee, Ramsay spits into Theon's arse crack, grumbling.

“Wasting my oil. Laying about like a pampered brat.  I'll have to stop calling you a whore… they take what I'm offering and I've yet to have one ask me to hit them. They're generally happy with a good hard fuck.” He pushes in, harder than he would have if he'd accounted for Theon having tensed in pain.

“I'm - …! Oh shit. yes.” He's gone, near babbling in desperation, lost in his favourite game, blissful with the rush of pain and needing only what he'd been offered in the first place. With a searing arse and pain singing through his body, he appreciates every jolt of pleasure anew.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes m’lord. I'm sorry.”

“And what are you?”

“A greedy slut.” That gets him what he wants: another merciless squeeze of Ramsays nails and the quickening of his pace. He throws himself into his fantasy headlong, no longer caring if he's overdoing it, it all feels so good...   “A hole for my master’s cock. To please you. That's all I'm for. And I know I shouldn't ask for more but- _ah, oh god_ -  I'm spoilt and need putting in my place.”

Ordinarily Ramsay would either agree and smack him or smack him for being a sycophant, but apparently he's just too absorbed in watching his cock driving into Theon's battered and swelling arse.

“You can't help it, can you. Always wanting more. Can't ever just do as you're told.”  Groping around Theon's body, Ramsay's hands stop to pinch and grab roughly, just to push him a little higher, and Theon moans with that as well as with Ramsay's more emphatic thrusts. 

“I'm sorry m'lord. I only want to obey you." There's a grin in his voice, despite the breathlessness, as though he can't quite believe the transparency of his own ruse, but with such a playful tone set despite the ache where he can steel feel the bite of the leather and iron on his arse, it's worth a try. Ramsay's hands tease towards his stomach, his hips. "No, _please_ , If you touch my cock now I'll spill, and you havent told me I can, I don't want to disobey you and be punished, please don't make me-”

Ramsay scoffs at his babbling.

“Nice try.” Ramsay hauls Theon up to his chest by the hair and wraps an arm around his chest, sliding it ominously up until it's across Theon's neck, Theon’s windpipe resting in the crook of Ramsays elbow. “This is what you're getting, so come if you're going to.”

Ramsay releases Theon's weight from him so he falls forward into his arm, putting pressure on his neck in the hold and Theon chokes with it. He lays Theon forward until his own elbow sinks into the bed and Theon's face into the pillows, Theon’s throat hard and clenching against the inside of his arm, flexing as he gags and splutters, struggling to haul back in the breath he's moaned out and failing.

Ramsay holds him there whilst he fucks him, quick and hard, not drawing back much before he pushes in, just the way he knows would have him wailing if he wasn't being strangled. He's getting enough breath in to gurgle and heave but the crush of Ramsay's arm around his throats will bruise him and Ramsay makes a fist and turns his hand to flex the muscles in his arm just a bit harder into Theon's throat.

It's safe because he knows Theon won't last long like that: he keeps it up until he feels the shudder wrack through him, the choked groan that turns into ragged panting, the twitching of his muscles that tells him when Theon is coming. He bucks and thrashes underneath him and Ramsay feels a quiet, warm rush of satisfaction spread through him: it looks  -and feels, in the vice grip of his body - intense, and he's proud rather than jealous of Theon's pleasure. A job well done.

He releases Theon's neck by relaxing his arm and taking some weight off his back, slows his thrusting to a gentle rock before pulling out altogether, with an absent stroke to Theon's shoulders. Ramsay pets at him for a moment with his left hand whilst he shakes out the cramp in his right.  Theon is beautiful, dazed and blissful, and Ramsay wants that hand to make the most of it. His left is not nearly so dexterous and he isn't in the mood to make it difficult for himself or wait any longer than he has to.

Knowing full well that Ramsay will have his own needs firmly in hand, Theon allows himself a short while to bask in sticky, beaten pleasure and recover his senses; after a few moments he pushes himself up on his hands, blowing out a shaky breath and composing himself.

“Do you want me to suck your cock? Wipe down, I'll go fetch that other belt when I-”

“I haven't got time for all that. Keep still.”

Theon groans and obeys, flopping back into the bed to present his taut backside and his bruises, the leather grazes and old scars, his hole twitching and clenching around the ghost of Ramsay's prick. He doesn't need  to be able to hear the oil squishing between Ramsay's palm and the head of his cock to know how quickly he's stroking it, and he'd like to look back over his shoulder but he has his orders so he lies as bidden, boneless and still panting whilst Ramsay makes himself come over him.

Theon hears the wetter strokes, the clipped little gasp Ramsay makes before he feels his seed land in hot stripes over Theon's backside, vertical dashes cutting across the horizontal marks he left with the belt - which are still burning -  and sliding to pool in the dip at the small of his back.

A huff, a sigh, and Ramsay smacks him on the arse, right on a fresh bruise.

“Ah you fucker, what was that for?! “

“Because I'm late, _and_ I'm _smiling_ , and now unquestionably  the best part of my day is over and I've got to go riding and talking and I'll wager you now he won't even let me do any of the fun things and I'm going to get a lecture about something. You, probably, and he's not even seen _that_.”

‘That’ presumably referring to the ache from jaw to collar which, Theon knows from experience, will be a dull dark pink now and turn into a thick noose of angular bruising. He’ll enjoy that for days, and not least because of the stares and whispers which, yes, always seem to make it back to Roose somehow. He wonders sometimes if Ramsay's father knows what a deviant his son really is: that with him it isn't an assertion of  dominance but pure hedonism combined with an actual desire to _please Theon_ , to follow these perverse whims simply because they enjoy them, they enjoy _each other_.  That they're making a mummer's farce out of his family's reputation so that they can laze around fucking and drinking his wine. No politics, no power, just quite simply rolling in filth.

Theon wriggles to sitting, grimacing comically at the slip of solidifying liquid down his body.

“Find an excuse for me to stay up here all day and I'll rig up something to take your mind off it when you get back."

“And you absolutely won't be sat about wanking yourself off whilst I'm on enforced best behaviour and working to keep you in the lifestyle to which you have become accustomed?”

“Only if I've finished all my chores, my lord.”

Ramsay's smile and kiss says that's good enough for him - his mood _has_ improved. “If anyone asks tomorrow, you spent all day retching your guts up and it was almost definitely nothing to do with that incredibly suspicious hand-made pie I made you eat.”

“As if I'd be so ungrateful! Really m’lord, I think you underestimate your poor Reek’s love and loyalty.” He's dropping into his act even as he finishes the sentence. It's unnerving. Ramsay doesn't often allow him to stay in that role in private: he likes to be able to distinguish it clearly from his beautiful pet Theon: Just as willing, just as _his_ , but it's easier like this, with Theon telling Ramsay what he wants so that he can revel in the boy's responses when he chooses whether or not to give it to him.

He always does, eventually.

“Honestly. The things I do for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and prompts always loved and appreciated. Got a kink you'd like to see covered? Let me know!


	3. 3. Nose Over Tail -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vignette of something I feel is pretty intrinsic to this version of the relationship. I think I wrote this on Christmas day? For Polly.

Nose Over Tail

 

Theon checks the horses are secured properly and follows Ramsay on the worn track through the long, wet grass at his own slower pace. His arse is aching from a thorough beating with Ramsay's belt not even a whole day previous – not so much from the hasty and merciless fucking that had followed, although he can certianly still feel it. In particular, the deep fist-sized bruise where the buckle of the belt had repeatedly landed contributes  to his lop-sided hobble not being as much of an effort to maintain as it usually is. He stumbles along just to Ramsay's right and a pace behind him as Ramsay follows the dogs along the edge of a copse and in.

They're alone, Ramsay just out for the sorts of small game these woods are overrun with, so there was no sense bringing more than the dogs that needed the run and the kit they can carry between themselves. Ramsay's unlikely to bring down anything more than he can sling onto the back of his own horse but even a couple of rabbits will be welcomed by the kitchens, and it had been a good excuse to bring Reek. A few stories circulating lately that Theon's overheard from his corners that indicate the court will probably think he's the sport, that their half-mad young lord has brought him out to chase him down from horseback and do a litany of awful things to him that they seem to have nearly as much relish in dreaming up as Theon does - they're usually at least partially right, too – and that any edible game he brings back is incidental. But it hardly matters: it's a nice day to be out and they're bound to be well fed at the end of it.

Ramsay strides on at a clip, humming tunelessly to himself, his hand over the hilt of the throwing knife he's been practicing with, using to take out rats in the dungeons. It's a wornderful thing to watch: the horrible, cold precision of it; the swift commitnment of the motion; Ramsay's unfettered, almost childlike happiness when he's successful.

Theon's carrying Ramsay's favourite bow and Ramsay's got enough knives about his person - between the ones that have permanent residence in his belt and his boot, the extra ones he's put there today that won't matter if they get lodged in something that escapes, not that it's ever happened or like to, because that would annoy him far too much to be allowed, and his skinning kit – to individually pin everything in the forest to its own tree. The crossbow he's wearing over his back is probably gratuitous, but Ramsay's a gratuitous sort of person. He looks over his shoulder to see Theon limping in his wake.

“You can walk, we've not been followed.”

“I bloody can't, the state you've made of my arse.” He sees concern on Ramsay's face. “The bruise, I mean. Mostly. It's black, Ram. The skin's fit to burst.” Then the response he gets is a dark, one sided smile.

Ramsay's been in a brutal mood for a couple of days and as much as Theon enjoys that, he's sore, so he's inclined to steer Ramsay away towards the filthier, more debauched side of his wrongness: away from the pain whilst he heals. For long enough to want it again, at least. So he's on his best behaviour, his servitude eager, offering unquestioning compliance in the way he knows tempts Ramsay into warping and perverting his submission rather than goading him into further punishment as he usually would... as he _will_ , once the swelling goes down.

Ramsay gives two short whilstles, the second flicking up in pitch at the end, and Theon recognises the command. He doesn't fully understand why he's giving it _now_ , but that's not important: he drops to his knees and then forward, putting his forehead on the toe of Ramsay's boot as quickly as he can. He knows his form isn't perfect but he hopes his quick compliance is enough that he'll be given leeway for adjusting, straightening his back to angle his backside up.

After a second of breathless pause, he realises something: Ramsay is laughing at him. Not the low, frightening but sensual chuckle he's given to but a loud, open sound that gets harhser with every second until Ramsay's whooping and sounds like he's fighting for breath. Theon becomes aware that ahead, the dogs have wheeled to an agitated stop.

The command was not for him. Humiliation floods him, hot and genuine.

Ramsay pulls Theon up by his clothes and kisses him, holding him tight against his chest by his shirt collar until another laugh bubbles up and overwhelms him.

“Oh, my Theon. You're a mess.” He's still chuckling so earnestly to himself he can barely form words. “You – you thought... oh, good boy.” Ramsay ruffles his hair and it's not the voice he uses to praise Theon even when he's acting up for an audience, there's too much genuine amusement in it. “But I was commanding the _actual_ dogs, sweetling, not my lovely-” he kisses Theon at the side of the lips, “obedient,” another kiss, on them, “well trained little lap-pet.”

He does the whilstle again and Theon watches the dogs scramble to a halt before Ramsay sends them on with a fling of his arm. They go at once, diving off into the undergrowth and bramble; Ramsay pulls his hand back and smacks Theon solidly across the face. It's a hard, ringing knock with his fingers slackened so there's more impact than sting, and Theon's mind spins with the pain, his answering flash of arousal and the effort to undertsand the significance. He puts it together just in time.

Pointedly, looking him in the eyes, Ramsay whilstes for a third time, and Theon drops to his knees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, encouragement and prompts for future installments are always welcome and appreciated.


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